He faltered, and answered humbly, “I hope you will never drop me, Edwin, however bad I get?  But I particularly want to speak to you to-day.”

In an instant Russell had twined his arm in Eric’s, as they turned towards Fort Island; and Eric, with an effort, was just going to begin, when they heard Montagu’s voice calling after them—­

“I say, you fellows, where are you off to! may I come with you?”

“O yes, Monty, do,” said Russell, “It will be quite like old times; now that my cousin Horace has got hold of Eric, we have to sing ’When shall we three meet again?’”

Russell only spoke in fun; but, unintentionally, his words jarred in Eric’s heart.  He was silent, and answered in monosyllables, so the walk was provokingly dull.  At last they reached Fort Island, and sat down by the ruined chapel looking on the sea.

“Why what’s the row with you, old boy,” said Montagu, playfully shaking Eric by the shoulder, “you’re as silent as Zimmerman on Solitude, and as doleful as Harvey on the Tombs.  I expect you’ve been going through a select course of Blair’s Grave, Young’s Night Thoughts, and Drelincourt on Death.”

To his surprise Eric’s head was still bent, and, at last, he heard a deep suppressed sigh.

“My dear child, what is the matter with you?” said Russell, affectionately taking his hand, “surely you’re not offended at my nonsense?”

Eric had not liked to speak while Montagu was by, but now he gulped down his rising emotion, and briefly told them of Bull’s vile words the night before.  They listened in silence.

“I knew it must come, Eric,” said Russell at last, “and I am so sorry you didn’t speak at the time.”

“Do the fellows ever talk in that way in either of your dormitories?” asked Eric.

“No,” said Russell.

“Very little,” said Montagu.

A pause followed, during which all three plucked the grass and looked away.

“Let me tell you,” said Russell solemnly; “my father (he is dead now you know, Eric), when I was sent to school, warned me of this kind of thing.  I had been brought up in utter ignorance of such coarse knowledge as is forced upon one here, and with my reminiscences of home, I could not bear even that much of it which was impossible to avoid.  But the very first time such talk was begun in my dormitory I spoke out.  What I said I don’t know, but I felt as if I was trampling on a slimy poisonous adder, and, at any rate, I showed such pain and distress that the fellows dropped it at the time.  Since then I have absolutely refused to stay in the room if ever such talk is begun.  So it never is now, and I do think the fellows are very glad of it themselves.”

“Well,” said Montagu, “I don’t profess to look on it from the religious ground, you know, but I thought it blackguardly, and in bad taste, and said so.  The fellow who began it, threatened to kick me for a conceited little fool, but he didn’t; and they hardly ever venture on that ground now.”